


The Herculean Task (12 Ways of Getting It Right)

by dreaminghigher (regencyaus)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Some Plot, a lot of pining going on for no goddamn reason tbh, also don't let the 'some plot' fool you this is 80 percent a cheesy love story, arthur is a tiny bit emotionally constipated, i love him anyway, listen they're bad at being friends with benefits but what can you do, maybe even 85? Who Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8749072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regencyaus/pseuds/dreaminghigher
Summary: The story of a dozen totems, and the one that stays. Or The story of a dozen dates they go on through the years, and the way Arthur finally, finally, catches up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Update: I'm including a moodboard I made for this!

  
  


"Let me take you out Arthur. I can show you a really good time." Eames says, with a smirk. 

Everyone laughs.

It's a joke, really.

They're in a warehouse, in the beginning of the job, trying to figure out who Eames could forge on this second level, and they've come up with and discarded all sorts of ideas when someone, probably Ariadne, says "maybe he could be an ex-girlfriend of the mark." 

That leads to Arthur, reasonably, asking how the hell Eames would even get close enough to an ex-girlfriend to be able to forge her. He's being practical about this, Fisher lives in Sydney and they're trying to run most of this job from the warehouse in Paris, but his skepticism has Eames proclaiming he could easily use his seducing powers, no problem there. Arthur gives him a _look_ , Eames offers to show him his methods, and _that_ leads to this moment right there. 

And it's a joke, it really is, except it won't be, if Arthur is in the mood to take him up on it later. 

They've been doing this for so long that he almost doesn't remember how it started. 

Well, not really. He remembers it pretty well. 

  


**I.**

  


The first time he meets Eames is actually at a bar. The most cliché of all, as far as first meetings go, but there's not much he can do about it.

Sometimes, and he wouldn't say this out loud under threat of death, but _sometimes_ he thinks they would have met anyway. On a dozen jobs they might have taken together, or in a dozen cities they would happen to be at at the same time on the following years. But the real first time goes like this. 

Arthur is 21 and has been out of the military service for six months. Those years he spent in training with this new technology, shared dreams, were the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him. It was torture. It was designed to be torture. It was designed to challenge every limit the human mind could ever stand and go beyond. It was test after test with the single purpose of figuring out how much it takes to drive a human being into despair, and collect the data left in the end. 

It was also like _nothing he_ _'_ _d_ _ever experienced before_. 

It was the ability to shape your horizons, come up with the _impossible_ , and Arthur was good at it. He was pragmatic, and creative in the face of adversity, and he could focus just enough to keep his reality in check. He could make magic. 

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case for everyone. 

His whole unit was honorably discharged after their captain woke up from some daily drills and, thinking he was still dreaming, shot himself on the head. The army couldn't have liabilities, and it was easier to let them all go than to deal with the ptsd and change their methods. They were tossed out into the street, addicted to the world's most exclusive drug, and with no chance of access nor rehab. 

Arthur still misses the PASSIV like hell, but he's doing better these days. He started a nine to five thing as an assistant accountant in a financial firm a couple weeks ago, and it's going good. They are all out to celebrate this Friday at, you guessed it, a local bar. 

He's had about two beers when he sees him. This guy is just, _fuck_ , he's gorgeous. Beard, short hair, built like a Greek demigod, the tattoos barely hidden, all over his arms, and Arthur may be drooling a little. The guy walks up to the bartender and throws Arthur a glance, amused. Arthur's relatively new at this, and he can feel his cheeks burning, a mix of embarrassed exctiment settling in. 

Well, he still volunteers when one of his coworkers want another drink. It may be possible that he volunteers _enthusiastically_. He walks up to the bar, his heart racing all the way, stops right next to him, and then- looses his nerve and doesn't talk to him at all. Shit, he's bad at this. 

The guy watched him approaching, and smiles mockingly now. Arthur feels himself being mocked, anyway. 

Hercules craves first. "Well, hello there, pet." 

...pet? 

" _Excuse_ me?" 

"Oh, I misread it. Sorry." He turns away, like it's _that easy_ for him to go on with his life, and Arthur is a little offended, all things considered. He feels the need to retreat it. 

"No, just, _pet_?"

Hercules, yeah, he's going with Hercules, turns back to him with a blinding smile. "Oh, I distinctly remembered you staaaring. I though you might've been interested?" 

The guy's an asshole. Arthur is getting distracted thinking about that beard against his neck, but he'll catch up to the asshole thing, he's sure. 

"Call me pet again and I'll kill you. What are you doing with that?" He notices now that the guy is moving a coin across the wood. Trying to spin it? It doesn't weight enough and keeps falling down. 

"This?" Hercules holds it up. "An experiment, really, but I can see it won't work. It would be too common anyway." 

"...that didn't make a lot of sense." 

Hercules dismisses it, playful. "Making sense takes time." 

And here is the moment he could have changed the subject. Moved on. Let the guy chat him up and stick to small talk.

But Arthur's curiosity is just enough for him to try one more time. 

"I've got all night." 

Hercules considers him.

"What", he asks, in tone of conspiracy, "do you know about dreams?" 

Everything _stops_. 

Arthur's heart races for a whole different reason, the thrill, the joy, the agony, all crashing into him. 

He wonders how to _explain_ this, and settles on: 

"I'm good at them." 

Hercules grins. 

"Why don't you say goodbye to your friends?" 

Oh shit.

Arthur feels a pang of regret when he remembers the people at his table. He thinks his boss came here today, and it must have been clear what he was doing, smiling and chatting away with a hot stranger at the bar. He knows his boss has a problem with that kind of thing, Arthur could seriously be unemployed come Monday. He looks at said stranger again and decides he doesn't particularly care. 

Hercules must take his silence as hesitation. 

"Just so we can finish this conversation somewhere we won't be overheard." 

"Is that an euphemism?" He wonders before his brain to mouth filter can catch up. 

"Oh, love, I wouldn't. I mean a corner table at a restaurant where I can tell you what I know about this." 

He doesn't know if he's disappointed or not. 

Hercules sees right through him. 

He leans closer, lets his breath tickle Arthur's skin before whispering just against his ear. "When I'm planning to push you against a hotel door and hear you gasp my name like a _prayer_ " he pauses here, just to make sure Arthur is still interested, like there's _anything else_ he could be "I'll tell you exactly that. Right now it's about dinner, I promise." 

"I don't even _know_ your name." He feels compelled to add. 

"Oh, yeah. Call me Eames." 

  
  


Eames is a fucking nerd. Arthur knows this by now, but that time he just looked cool, and mysterious, and like he had it all figured out. 

They go to a Japanese restaurant, and Eames (he misses Hercules a little. Gave a bigger dramatic impact, he thinks.) tells him about something called totems, objects you take with you everywhere you go, and behave a little different inside a dream, so you can always tell when you're awake, and separate dream from reality. 

"A way to keep you sane, really, and losing sanity is easier than it seems." 

"Anything works, then?" 

"Anything portable, I guess." 

"Like a keychain, for example?" 

"Well, yes. Some keychains are too big though, it's not supposed to be something that would draw attention." 

He considers this. "Was that coin yours? Your totem?" 

"Oh, not really. I was just checking to see if it works as one. It's a bit of a habit I picked up, I see any small object and test it. But coins are too generic, anyway." 

"And that's bad?" Their food arrives and he has to pause to properly appreciate it. "Hmm this is delicious." 

Eames is giving him a sweet smile. "I'm glad you like it." He watches Arthur for another second, before catching up. "Generic is bad because it's a liability. There are millions of coins out there, and that's something someone could use, if they're trying to fuck up with your head." 

"I don't follow. How?" 

"Okay, let's say you have a coin, and it works as a totem on a Harvey Dent kind of way. One regular side and one side burned out. Let's say it looks like this in reality, and in dreams both sides are normal. Anyone could put a normal coin in your pocket and try to make you believe you're still dreaming. If they got a hold of you they can make you believe in anything. Or they can keep you going in and out, switching it, until you don't know what's real anymore. You'll confess to anything to make it stop." 

"What if it was the other way around, normal coin in reality, and coin with the burned side in a dream?" 

"Then you don't have a totem, you have a normal coin. You've never seen the burned side, you'll remember it with the hazy quality of a dream. Anyone could burn half a coin and put it in your pocket, you can't be _sure_ that's not how it was supposed to be." 

"Okay, but Two Face doesn't have a normal coin. That's the whole point of the character, the coin has two faces." 

Eames' grin is evil. "Honey, I knew there was a secret nerd in you!" He wipes an invisible tear. Arthur glares. 

"What is it with you and the pet names anyway?" 

"Please, you like them." 

"I really don't." Eames waves him off. 

"If you're creating a coin, custom made, then it is a totem because it stops being generic. You can make them just slightly bigger than a regular one, for example, and no one knows the exact size but you recognize it on sight. It's not generic anymore, it's yours." 

Arthur considers this. 

"What is your totem, then?" 

"You mean this week?" 

Arthur is baffled. 

"You don't have a fixed one?? You spent the past _hour_ convincing me of-" 

"I know. I'll let you in on a secret though, any generic totem can work. It _stops_ working when someone dangerous finds out about them, and that never happens if you change them often enough." 

"But why don't you have anything that you keep?" 

"I always lose them, to be honest." 

He's lying. Arthur doesn't know him for long, but he can tell. 

"Okay, what is it this week?" 

"You'll like this, I actually got this one custom made, in a way. I spent some days with a friend that has a store for this kind of shit, and I decided to make one for me using her stuff." 

He pulls something of his pocket and hands it to Arthur. It's a simple, but very pretty, dice. Red, slightly transparent. The weight feels good in Arthur's hand. 

Eames is watching him. 

"Should you even be showing me this?" 

"I change them a lot. If it doesn't feel good for me anymore I can get another one." 

"And what does it do?" 

"It's a dice, Arthur. You throw it at a flat surface and look at the number on top." 

"You're really not that funny." Eames, predictably, grins as if he were hilarious. Arthur can feel himself smiling too. 

"It's loaded, always falls on four. It can fall on any number in a dream." 

They are silent for a moment, Arthur thinking about thousands of things at once. 

"So", Eames says, "can I charm you into some dessert?" 

"What was your first totem?" 

"Ah, it was embarrassing, I don't want it ruining my reputation. A lighter, I'm unfortunately a smoker. It'd have a pink flame inside a dream." 

"No, the real first. The one that made you keep changing these." 

Eames is genuinely taken aback, raw emotion in his eyes, before the façade slips back. 

"That's a story for another time, I'm afraid." 

Shit. Arthur pushed too far. He tries to smile, says "Yeah, I'd love dessert." And Eames lights up again, so it might be okay, after all. 

  
  


Eames is even more beautiful sprawled against the sheets of his hotel bed. Every movement feels sensual, draws Arthur in, and Arthur looses himself in the slow rhythm between their mouths. He's half on top of Eames, and they're both still dressed but Eames breaks the kiss and trails lazy bites across his neck, the beard scratching a delicious friction and Arthur gasps and knows there's no rush. 

Eames hands are splayed across Arthur's lower back. Arthur feels one of them hiking up the edge of his shirt, groping skin, and he presses their foreheads together, his own hands getting tangled in Eames hair. He tries pulling a little and is rewarded with a beautiful " _Arthur_ " whispered against his skin. Eames digs his nails in and then there's a knee pushing his legs apart, Eames pressing their hips together and _God_ , he feels good. Arthur groans. 

He wants to see more of Eames, wants to _feel skin_ , but he tries to get his shirt out of the way and doesn't really succeed. He knows his inexperience is showing, that Eames can tell. He has done this before, but not very often, and not with a lot of time to spare. Surprisingly enough, the years in the army didn't really allow for 'exploring each other's bodies' and 'learning what you like'. Eames doesn't seem to care though, just kisses him again, deep and hot, and holds his waist so he can flip them over on the bed. 

He breaks the kiss, gently biting Arthur's bottom lip in the end, and sits up. And then, well, and then he pulls his t-shirt over his head and Jesus Fuck. He has tattoos all over his upper body, beautiful, intricated works of art on his shoulders and all across his upper chest and Arthur has never _wanted_ quite so badly. 

" _Eames_." 

Eames smiles, not even a smirk, just a genuine smile. He lowers himself again, keeping most of their bodies pressed flush together and brings both hands to Arthur's hair now, his neck, his cheeks, his jaw. A thumb brushes against Arthur's bottom lip, pushes just inside his mouth, and Eames seems fascinated. 

"What do you want?" He asks softly, in the space between their bodies. "Tell me." 

"I don't know. You, I mean." 

"That's not very specific, darling." He pauses. "No, wait, I can drop the pet names. Give me a second." 

Arthur shrugs. "I don't really care, I guess." 

Eames whole face lights up. 

  
  


Arthur doesn't mean to fall asleep, but at some point he must have, because he awakes to the sunlight shining in through the windows, and Eames sleeping soundly next to him. He takes a moment to appreciate the view, but he knows how this kind of thing works, and he's really, really, not looking forward to Eames waking up and thanking him for the night but kindly kicking him out. 

He dresses up quickly, and just needs to find his wallet that must have fallen somewhere. Maybe beneath Eames' jeans? He picks them up and hears a small noise. The dice. 

"You can keep it, if you want to." 

Arthur jumps a few feet into the air. 

"Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn't see you wake up." Eames shrugs it off. 

"You'll need a totem anyway, right? Try the dice, for now. If you don't feel like it's going to work, you can get something else later." 

"I- It's yours, I couldn't-" 

"I'll have another one before the end of the day. Here" he picks up one of the hotel pens, "it has black ink, right? I'm sure I can make it write in rainbows in a dream." 

And that's one of the things that Arthur should have noticed, how easily Eames talked about lucid dreams, as if he had constant access to them. But Arthur really doesn't pay attention here. 

He considers the offer for a few seconds. "Okay. If you're sure." 

Eames smiles. "Your wallet is beneath the bed, I think." 

It is. Arthur hovers uncertainly after he picks it up. Eames decides to make it easy on him. 

"I'll see you around, Arthur." 

"Bye." 

  
  


On Monday he meets Dominick Cobb... 

He really is fired, though there was a nice excuse about the slow months, and managing resources, and how they wished him the best for his career. Outside the building there's a guy waiting for him, and he seems to know everything about Arthur's life. 

"I know this will sound crazy, Arthur, but I may have a job offer for you." 

"I'm listening." 

...and the second part of his life begins. 

  


**II.**

  


This one happens years later. 

Arthur hasn't seen Eames in months. He's been getting some interesting jobs, and actually making a lot of money, and it's a good moment for him, all things considered. He has no reason to miss Eames at all. 

And he doesn't. They aren't dating, Eames can do whatever the fuck he wants to. Okay, Arthur has never spent quite this long without seeing him, but hey, again, not a problem, and certainly not his problem. And, okay, he keeps in touch with some other people on a more regular basis, but with Eames he picks up the phone, thinks better of it and puts it back down. 

But still. 

It's not like they haven't talked at all recently, Eames has actually called a couple times, to check up on life. Well. Arthur keeps tabs on him. Kind of a protection thing, really, he likes knowing where Eames is, in case anything ever happens. It's not the most embarrassing thing he's ever done, believe him. And Eames does it to him too, he's noticed a few times. That's what the phone calls are mostly about, though he pretends not to know. 

Eames will chat about life, or work, or how he'd kill for a coffee right now, or this really amazing restaurant he's eaten in and Arthur should totally check it out next time he's in Buenos Aires. At some point he'll drop a question about where Arthur is, and under what id, and then he'll probably pay a closer attention to news reports coming from that part of the world. It's what Arthur does to him anyway. 

So yeah, Arthur has no reason to miss him, and he doesn’t, except for the part that he really does, and it's fine. It is. 

But when Mal calls to offer a job in Rome, and Arthur _knows_ Eames is in Rome and has finished what he had going on a few weeks ago, he can't really stop himself. 

"Don't you think you guys could use a forger?" 

Mal sees right through him, like she has every time when it's come to this. 

"Oh my, Arthur, who could you possibly be referring to??" She sounds like she's smiling. She's not judgmental, ever, and she doesn't treat him badly about his thing with Eames at all. But when it's just the two of them, she has no problem making fun of him when he's being stupid. Or when he sounds like a love sick puppy. Mal being Mal. 

"He would probably take this. And he's already in Rome." 

"Sounds like _destiny_." He feels himself blushing. 

"Shut up. I'm serious, this job could use him." 

"Alright. The things I do for love. Do you wanna give him a call?" 

"No, no, I mean, you can-" 

"If _I_ call him I'll say that you practically begged me to, and that you miss his sweet smile-" 

"His teeth are crooked like hell, he doesn't have a sweet smile." 

"…-his beautiful eyes, his charming accent, and his huge, thick-" 

"Fuck you." She laughs. "Fine, I'll call him. How much do I say you're offering?" 

"Arthur. He's taking the job before you can even give him a figure." 

And it hurts, sometimes, because Mal didn't really get it, this sleeping together sometimes with no strings attached thing between them. She doesn't know how one sided it actually is. 

"Mal, he doesn't- This isn't quite what we've got going on. He's not going to jump at the chance to take this job just because he'd be working with me." 

"Oh, my sweet summer child." She sighs. "Fine, tell him we can offer the same thing we'll be giving you, and that we should be ready to start by the end of the next week."

"Will do. Bye Mal." 

"Good luck." 

  
  


Eames takes the job before Arthur gives him a figure. He was in the same city anyway, it's convenient. 

  
  


And then, well. And then Arthur takes the next flight to Rome, and doesn't think about it until he actually lands at the Leonardo Da Vinci international airport. 

What is he doing? Is he actually going to call Eames, like oh hey, I came here more than a week in advance for no discernable reason and I know you're around somewhere, want to grab dinner together? He and Eames aren't dating. What if he's here with someone _else_? 

No, wait, Arthur's being ridiculous, he could just give him a call and mention that he came a bit early, to settle down. If Eames is interested, he'll say something, right? 

Arthur goes to the hotel, thinking in circles all the way. 

He organizes his things, and goes over the information he'll need for the job, and still hasn't made up his mind when he crashes at an ungodly hour to sleep the jet leg away. 

He wakes up to his phone ringing, and checks his watch. 8:12 AM. He groans and picks it up. 

"'lo?" 

"Arthur! How has life been treating you?" Eames. He feels himself smiling, though he doesn't think he's any more awake. 

"We talked yesterday. No. Two days ago? Two days ago." 

"...did I wake you?" Eames seems amused. "It should be eleven something in Los Angeles. I don't think I've ever seen you sleep so early." 

"'m not in LA." 

"Oh, _really._ Where are you, then?" 

"Rome." 

There's a silence on the other end. 

"Excuse me?" 

"I'm in Rome. Italy?" 

"Yes, I've heard of it. When did you get here?" 

"Yesterday afternoon?" 

"Yester-- were you even going to tell me?" 

Arthur shrugs, and needs a second to remember that Eames can't see him. Eames goes ahead anyway. 

"No, never mind. Where in Rome?" 

"Holiday Inn?" 

"There are a few of those. Which one?" 

"East." 

"Okay." He hesitates next. "Are you busy right now? Do you want to get something to eat?" 

And Arthur really does, but: "I need to finish sleeping, I'm barely awake. Lunch?" 

"I'll pick you up." 

  
  


By pick him up, Eames meant a Harley-Davidson. A bike. A motorcycle. That thing that is not a car. Eames takes off his helmet is slow motion, just because he can, and waits for Arthur to approach. Arthur feels his dice inside his pocket, and curses the heavens and anyone else who may listen. 

He catches a glimpse of Eames doing the same thing, and he could be wrong, but- 

"Is that a cross?" 

"Yep. Got it at a souvenir shop." 

"In Rome? Could you be any more cliché?" 

Eames looks down at himself, at his bike, and raises an eyebrow. Okay, good point. 

"Where would you even rent a Harley-Davidson, anyway?" 

"Arthur, _please_. I bought her. She's my baby." 

"Okay, let me try again. Why would you buy an expensive bike in a city you don't live in?" 

"I found her cheap. I can use her during the job and sell again for the same guy for a good deal. She's a summer fling." 

"Your bike is beautiful, but it's not a she." 

"Shhh. Don't talk about her like that, _she can hear you_." 

Yeah, Arthur really fucking missed him. It's so good to see him again. 

Eames passes him a helmet. 

"Are you coming or what?" 

Arthur puts it on, sits, and holds him tight. 

  


**III.**

  


This time they're in Mexico in the middle of February and Eames is in an annoyingly good mood, always. One of his oldest friends is their architect for the job and Eames spent a lot of time this past month with her. He's genuinely happy. 

Arthur feels heartbroken every time he sees them together. 

Which is just so _stupid_. This thing with Eames never really had a name, but he knows it's not serious. It was never about that. Eames thinks he's good looking, so sometimes they have fun, and then don't talk to each other for weeks, and he knows the whole missing him all the way is something that is just on his side of the deal. And, mainly, it's something he needs to get rid of. 

He has no reason to be jealous, and he really, really, has no right. 

But she and Eames have been going out, and a lot, this past weeks and Arthur _hates_ it every time, and hates himself for hating it. It's a bit of a vicious cycle. 

And he's not proud of this but sometimes, he wishes he could hate the woman, Ayla, too. But he can't. She's sweet, and gorgeous, and incredibly competent at her job, and the worst part of all is that they actually look good together. Like right now, when they're having a lunch break, and are chatting excitedly away by her table. She seems to be convincing him of something, and he's laughing at every two words she says, and scratch that, Arthur does hate her, _very much_. 

Eames says a little louder "Fine, you win" with a huge smile. And then "I going out to a market, would anyone like anything?" At the chorus of no, thank yous he winks at Arthur and leaves. Arthur is left absolutely confused. 

He doesn't take long, and comes back with chocolate. Lots of it. Like three boxes, from what Arthur can see. He opens two of them and tells everyone to help themselves, leaving the truffles at a table. 

The room lights up. They all eat, sharing stories and chatting excitedly away about the day. Arthur keeps mostly to himself, but he can't help but smile at the scene they paint. Chocolate is apparently the true way to a dreamer's heart. 

It takes Arthur most of the day to find the third box. 

It's smaller, and shaped like a heart, and it definitely wasn't in his things this morning. 

Shit. 

His heart races. 

But that's, that's the fucking problem, isn't it? Eames keeps doing stuff like this, when he doesn't mean it the way other people would. Arthur doesn't really do serious relationships, Eames doesn't do them _at_ _all_. The whole time Arthur has know him he has never seen him actually dating someone, and now he must be sleeping with Ayla, so why would he even do this, and fuck the chocolate. Really. 

Eames walks by his table on his way back from the kitchen and Arthur stops him with a hand on his arm, the box still on his desk. Eames notices it and looks at him. 

"Why are you giving me chocolate?" He asks quietly, so they won't be overheard. 

"I gave everyone chocolate." 

"Eames." 

He sighs. "Do people always need to have an ulterior motive with you?" that actually makes Arthur pause for a second. 

"Usually? Yes." 

Eames keeps looking. 

"Stop starting at me." 

Eames leans his hip against the edge of Arthur's desk. "I get a bit of the paranoia. No one stays alive in this business for so long without distrusting people on instinct, and having a lot of back up plans, I get it. But, you know, sometimes there isn't this huge conspiracy around everything, Arthur." He grabs a paper clip from Arthur's desk and twists it until it is shaped like a heart. 

(Or something that vaguely remembers a heart. Arthur is not one to judge.) 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, sometimes, people just want what it seems like they do. Nothing else." He slips the paper clip into a pocket and looks at him again. 

Arthur considers this. "And what do you want, Eames?" 

Eames stares at him, long and hard, and then apparently makes up his mind about something, because the next moment he's moving, stepping away from the desk and closer to Arthur. Arthur feels the change in his attitude like a physical force, and his heart does that weird thing where it misses a beat and immediately doubles the rhythm, maybe compensating for the loss. 

He thinks, perhaps ludicrously, that Eames is about to kiss him. Which wouldn't even make sense, they are in public, they talked about this before, there were _rules_. Arthur casts a quick glance around anyway, to see if their team had noticed the exchange. By now they'd caught the attention of Eames' friend, she is eyeing them over the rim of her cup of coffee with a smile. But their extractor still seemed deep in thought over something in her notebook, and the other guy, a consultant in the financial information they will need, has left for the day awhile ago. Arthur turns back to Eames and waits, telling his heart to chill the fuck out. 

Eames follows his gaze, and then regards him curiously, seeking something in his expression. Whatever it was he finds it, and he reaches with his left hand to the side of Arthur's face. 

Arthur is so in shock that he barely breathes. Eames' fingertips are touching him now, moving along his jaw in a slow caress. His thumb brushes lightly under Arthur's bottom lip, and Arthur still hasn't moved and he doesn't understand why. He should stop this, there are people here for fuck's sake, people that could see him, see what Eames was doing, the moment feeling ridiculously intimate in it's simplicity. Arthur's heart is still racing and he thinks that maybe that is Eames' plan, that is what he wants, to show how he can break down all of Arthur's rationality with fucking chocolate and a touch. 

But Eames isn't done yet, he is tilting Arthur's head up, fingers now under his jaw and a question clear in the air. And Arthur, with no resemblance of common sense, is answering yes with his eyes, with the slight parting of his lips, with the way he is tilting his head some more for the perfect angle and the way he is holding his breath. 

And then Eames does kiss him, just a light touch on his cheek and a whispered "Happy Valentine's day." 

Arthur spares another thought to the people around them, to how he must look like a teenager, getting absolutely distracted and ignoring the world because he wanted a kiss. 

He turns away as if on fire. 

Thoughts are rushing by him, about what they must be thinking of him, about what Eames was trying (and succeeding) to prove. He feels dizzy. 

"You _look_ like someone who's missing the point, darling." 

Arthur can't understand him, can barely think, feels humiliated by how _weak_ he is next to Eames and how Eames, how Eames is fucking with his head, just to prove a point. 

Arthur is mad. He grabs his things, says a quick 'we can go over this tomorrow' to the room at large, and leaves. 

  


* 

  


Eames's still pissed off at Arthur. He knows it's been a week, and he knows that Arthur tried to apologize – in his own way, which means the words 'I', 'am', or 'sorry' were never involved, but still. He knows that Arthur has been trying to make it up to him. One morning, with no prompt, he found coffee waiting for him on his table, which he happily drank ignoring how it ended up there. And yesterday they were discussing the time frame for the job and Arthur tried to find middle ground between their ideas on three different occasions, when he'd usually just let Eames know he thought what Eames was saying was bullshit. So, he's trying. 

But Arthur never knows what he wants, and Eames just feels like being angry for awhile longer this time. It's not like he plans to avoid Arthur forever anyway. And let's be honest here, he's enjoying the attention. Let Arthur suffer some more, no need to make it easy on him. 

His forgery is coming along very nicely, he pats himself on the back for this one, and he wakes from a dream to find out that a) it's already gotten pretty late, b) just Ayla and Arthur are still around, and c) the architect is immersed in some mockups for the main building, but Arthur is just waiting for him, leaning against Eames desk and tracking him across the room. 

He decides to address Ayla first, knowing how she gets when she really focuses on her work. He met her on one of his first jobs after joining the world of dream corporate espionage, and since that very first time, when they were sold out to the mark and everything went to hell, they've saved each other's lives uncountable times. Well. More times than he cared to keep count anyway. Ayla has a score system written down somewhere. Which just pisses him off even more, because she would never, ever sell information on him or use it to cause him any harm, and the day he kissed Arthur just Ayla and the extractor _that already knew about them, for fucks sake_ , were around.

The extractor even made fun of it when she offered him the job, smiling. _"If it sweetens the deal, I'm getting Arthur as my point man for this. I heard you're both particularly close, but I'm sure that must be a lie. You'd never do something unprofessional like that."_ He doesn't know her for long, but she proved herself trustworthy the couple jobs they did before, and his research turned up someone loyal. And the fact that she'd search them in turn, and that she'd find out things they thought they were hiding pretty well, just shows her to be good at her job. Arthur had _nothing to freak out about_. 

Okay, enough of it. He walks up to Ayla and pats her gently on the shoulder, but she still jumps out of her chair, completely startled. He laughs. 

"Ayla, the work will still be here for you on Monday." 

She checks her watch and curses. "Shit, it's late." 

"It is. Go home." 

"What would I do without you?" She gives him an easy smile. "I'll just finish designing this floor, before I leave for the weekend. I'm almost done." 

"Good luck." 

"Don't forget about tomorrow." 

"Yes, Ma'am." 

One thing taken care of, he goes over to his own table, considering for a moment before deciding no, he's not that much of an asshole, and he does miss Arthur a little anyway. No need to be rude. 

"Well, hello there." He says, putting his things away. 

"Hi." 

When Arthur hesitates next, Eames looks up. 

"Are you finished for today?" Arthur adds. 

"Yeah." Which is pretty obvious, but Eames is giving him ten seconds of a break here. 

 "...do you want to get dinner somewhere?" Okay, wow. Progress, Eames is impressed. But his ten seconds are up. 

"Are you asking me out, Arthur?" 

"Yes." 

"On a date?" 

"No, on a family pickni--" He calms himself down. Eames is definitely amused by now. "Yes, Eames." 

"Hmmm." He pretends to ponder over this for a moment. "Sure, where you wanna go?" 

Arthur was clearly expecting more of a protest than this. "I- you mean. That easy?" 

"That easy." Because fuck it, he wants Arthur to know this. It doesn't have to be complicated between them, it doesn't have to be such a fight. If Arthur can put away his fears for a few hours at a time, he can show him. "I rented a car this week but I say we leave it here and get a taxi so I can drink wine. You're okay with that?" 

"...yes?" 

"Okay, we can walk to the avenue and get one faster from there. Ayla, my dear." She looks up. "Don't stay too long." 

"I won't. Pinky promise. Have fun!" He waves at her. She blows them a kiss and turns back to her project. 

They leave the warehouse and Eames puts on his blazer because Mexico City can actually get cold in February. He still shivers, and Arthur glances at him. 

"You should wear a scarf." 

"Doesn't go with my style." 

"Fine. Be cold, see if I care." 

Well, Arthur is one to talk, it's not like he and his immaculate suit even feel the difference. His very nice suit, now that Eames notices it, complete with a black tie, he honestly looks like he could be on a poster for Rolex or Dolce and Gabbana. Eames wonders for a moment if this, the two of them, crossed his mind when he chose what to wear this morning, but that's dreaming a bit far even for Eames. It's not like Arthur dressing nicely is rare anyway. 

Arthur catches him staring and raises his eyebrows. 

(He never quite learned how to do the single eyebrow thing. Eames gives him points for effort.) 

"You look good." 

Arthur looks away, but he's smiling. 

Which reminds Eames: "Oh yeah, we're going bowling with Ayla and another friend tomorrow. Give her a chance, seriously. She's pretty harmless. Well, no, she gets sadistic at paintball, but that's why I'm never playing paintball with her ever again." 

"...okay." 

That was easy. "Really?" 

"Can I crush her at bowling?" 

"...will it make you feel better?" 

"Yeah." 

"Go for it." 

Arthur is quiet for a moment. 

"Eames, earlier this week, on Valentine's day-- I asked you a question and I thought you hadn't answered, but I guess-" 

"Don't worry about it." Arthur seems caught off guard. 

"...but anyway, I overreacted, I shouldn't have-" 

"Arthur, it's okay." Arthur regards him for a moment. 

"Alright. How about Italian?" 

More out of habit than anything, Eames checks his pocket. Just to be sure. The paper clip is still twisted. Reality, then. 

"Sounds like a plan." 

  


**IV.**

  


It's not always this easy to fix things. 

Mal is gone and Arthur can't breathe, can't breathe, doesn't even know how to begin to do any of this. 

Dom leaves before Arthur can even get to LA, and they tell him the whole scene makes him sound like a killer and Arthur _knows_ he would never do that, but nothing makes sense and he throws the dice twenty times every minute and it's always four, four, four, like the dots are mocking him, and he can't do anything about it. 

But there are things he can do, things that need to be done and he's already there, so he helps organize the funeral, and he makes sure that Phillipa and James will be looked after, and he gets another fake id, and transfers money to an untraceable account, and waits for Dom's call. Because Dom will call, and he's either lost and needs help, or he did this, and then Arthur will find him anyway. 

In either case, he's ready, and he doesn't break down, because he can't afford to. 

But the first call he gets isn't Dom, it's Eames, who just landed in LAX and is getting a taxi and "would you tell me where are?" Arthur gives his address and not even twenty minutes later he hears a knock, which means there were a lot of speed limits broken. 

He opens the door and Eames whole face twists in concern. 

"Fuck, Arthur, you're a mess." 

And it's so stupid, he's been holding up really well, and he _can't afford to break down_ , but that's all it takes. 

He's crying, all at once, and he feels weak, but Eames is there with him, hugging him, murmuring nonsense into his hair, like "Shhh" and "It's okay", and it's all bullshit, but it is what Arthur needs him to say. He holds on tight, and Eames keeps him together, and it's not okay, it's not okay at all, but Arthur thinks, in time, it will be. And it's enough, for now, anyway. 

  
  


A month later, Dom calls. 

"Arthur, I can't talk for long, I need-" 

"I'm gonna ask this one time, Dom, and if you ever had any respect for me, or for Mal, you won't lie to me." 

"I didn't kill her! I'd never do that, Arthur. She didn't know what was real anymore, you _have_ to believe me-" 

"Okay. I do. What do you need?" 

  
  


And so, he's getting ready to go to Rio for an extraction job. Dom needs the money, and the distraction, he 'needs to be doing something or he will be thinking about her and drive himself insane', and Arthur thinks this is bullshit, but he won't let him go alone, and Dom wants someone he can trust. So, he's packing his bags. 

Eames isn't that happy with that. 

"Arthur, he's wanted by a federal organization for _murder_ -" 

"I believe him, Eames." 

"So do I. He's still a fugitive. He saw someone he loves die, he will be volatile, and could put you in danger-" 

"What am I supposed to do, let him go alone?" 

"You're supposed to talk him out of this! We can give him the money, but going under a month after losing the love of your life is insane." 

"And if I can't talk him out?" 

"Then stay _out of_ _this_ yourself! This is not the kind of thing you should be getting involved with-" 

"He needs my help, Eames!" 

"Going to Rio isn't how you help him, Arthur." 

"He asked me to go with him-" 

"And you're his lapdog, and go wherever he tells you to?" 

He sees the moment Eames regrets it, but he's too angry to care. 

"Fuck you." 

"Arthur, I'm sorry-" 

" _Fuck you_ , Eames." 

He slams the door on his way out, gets into the taxi waiting for him and doesn't look back. It's his house, he thinks, a moment too late, but no, wait, Eames was there for over a month, Arthur got him a key at some point. He can lock the door when he leaves, if he actually cares. Hey, the key is small portable object! He may even get a totem out of this and make his visit profitable, before he loses it like he loses everything else. Arthur doesn't give a fuck, either way.

  


**V.**

  


Their second meeting is very soon after the first, as you may have guessed. He will learn later that Eames was in LA for an extraction job with Dom and Mal, and he was the one that gave them information about Arthur, as someone that could be worth checking out. When the opportunity shows up, Arthur can't resist it. 

This is all very new to him, of course. He thinks the most illegal thing he has ever done was smoke a joint, and that was senior year of _high school_. Now he's between dangerous and skillful criminals, that expect a meticulous job from him. But he wasn't lying when he said he was good, and he learns fast, and is highly motivated. He has never been quite so eager to be a part of something. 

The first time he finds out about a distant family connection that they could use as an angle, and gets a "Nice work, Arthur" from Mal, he feels himself flush with pride. 

(It also earns him a small, secretive smile from Eames, but that just makes Arthur knock a pen to the floor, so. Not really a good thing.) 

Speaking of pens, Eames really is using the one from the hotel as his totem for this job. Arthur sees flashes of it every once in a while, and feels stupidly happy every time. 

But all that pales to the first time he goes on a lucid dream again. Jesus Christ, he missed this, the liberating feeling of _controlling your reality_. As a point man, his job has mostly to do with research, and making sure every information about to be used checks out, so there's not a lot of need for him to go under during the weeks leading up to the extraction. Still, he's hooked, and they can probably tell. Mal, as the architect, starts inviting him along when she checks on her buildings. 

"You can look for any flaws I might have missed. It's always good to have a second opinion." 

And he loves her for that. 

He loves her for other reasons too. She's genuinely funny, and she can read a person like no one, and uses that, but is never cruel. Mal is light, and freedom, and that warm feeling you get when you wake up from a good night's sleep on a weekend, and there's sunlight, and birds singing, and everything is just easy. That's what being around Mal feels like, like everything is easy, and all your problems can wait a couple hours. 

  
  


One day Eames is asleep, peaceful, working on his forgery. 'He is a work of art', Arthur thinks, nonsensically, and Mal catches him staring. She raises an eyebrow, and grins. Arthur can't even imagine what kind of look must have been on his face, but he blushes and vows not to let it show again. 

She talks to him a few moments later, when Dom is distracted. 

"You don't have to be so scared, you know. We all have our exceptions." She glances at Dom. "It doesn't make you unprofessional." She pauses. "Well, at least _I_ don't think it does. It makes you human, and life is too short to avoid that." 

That's the kind of thing she would tell him another hundred times, and Arthur would never take her quite seriously. But right here he knows she's saying this because Arthur didn't look turned on, he looked _fascinated_ , mesmerized, and he's known Eames for _two weeks_ and this whole thing is stupid anyway. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"You should tell him. It may work out, you never know." 

"No. Idea." 

"Alright, I'm going." She laughs. Arthur just shakes his head. 

Eames starts inviting him along on dreams too, a few times, to check on his forgery, and then to show off all kinds of forgeries he can up with while they're there. Arthur is impressed, and he can't hide it half the time, but Eames isn't really arrogant. Just confidant, he guesses, and excited about what he does. 

One time, he's just about calling it a day when Eames invites him along again. Arthur looks around and notices that Dom and Mal are both getting ready to leave, and turns back to Eames. 

"I'll be quick about it, I just want you to check his accent." 

"Okay." 

Dom leaves some keys at his table. "You will need those. Don't forget to lock it up after you leave and, and I mean this, one of you must be here on time tomorrow to open it up." 

"Will do." 

They start the dream. Eames tries the accent with different tones, and Arthur listens, but with some of them there's just something a little off, and in the end he tells Eames to go back to the first one he did anyway. Eames decides to work some more on the hair, and Arthur looks around, picturing streets, and modern skyscrapers, and glass houses. Just before the time is up Eames shows up next to him, back in his own skin, and he smiles and Arthur doesn't know who started but they're kissing, and yeah, he missed this. He opens his mouth for Eames tongue and hears his groan, feels him pressing closer. He gets lost in it and he's falling, falling… 

  
  


He wakes up first, and gets to see Eames riding the kick, and slowly opening his eyes. He looks around for a confused moment, before finding Arthur. And then, because he's an asshole, he actually takes out the pen from his pocket and tests is on his hand. Black ink. 

"Go out with me, Arthur." 

Arthur hesitates. 

"It doesn't have to be anything serious, you know. I don't really do that anyway. We can just have fun. Go somewhere extra nice and enjoy the night." 

"Go where?" 

"I don't know. Wherever you want." Arthur just eyes him for a moment. He knows he'll say yes, knew he'd say yes from the moment Eames asked him to stay behind, but a man needs to protect his ego. He'd like to believe he's not being that easy. "Getting something to eat would be marvelous, it's actually gotten kind of late. We could make a proper night out of it, fancy restaurant, five course meal." 

"We're not dressed for that kind of place." 

"Well, damn. Next time then. How about a huge pizza?" 

"Yeah, that works." 

Inside his head he hears Mal's voice and thinks she might not be that far off, after all. 

  


**VI.**

  


The job in Rio actually goes on with out a hitch, clean and effective, and Dom already has something else lined up by the time they finish, and then something else after _that_. 

He's broken, and it's easy to tell, from the maniac way he works and from the dark circles under his eyes, but keeping busy helps, and Arthur can't deny him this. 

So they work, and a lot, and Arthur tries not to let himself think about Mal, or Eames, or anything at all. 

And that's why the next time he finds himself walking into his house it's already been what, four and a half months? Dom decided they needed a break, and Arthur wanted some time to go back home. 

Eames is sleeping in his couch, and Arthur ignores that and goes straight into his room to unpack and take a shower. 

By the time Eames wakes up Arthur is ordering Chinese, and Eames is holding himself completely still, but he must notice that Arthur is obviously getting enough food for two people, so unless he's planning to kick him out and have someone else over in the next half an hour, he's safe for now. 

"No, cash. Let me see, yes I have change. ...ok, thank you." He hangs up and turns to Eames. God, he looks terrible. Arthur doesn't think he's doing that much better, and at least Eames can blame it on the ten hour flight. What's Arthur's excuse? 

"Have you been here this whole time?" Arthur asks, but he knows he hasn't. Eames got a job in Hong Kong about five days after Arthur left. Then he finished it and spent the following weeks blowing the money he got in the Macau's casinos. And _then_ he went back to England, where he was until a couple days ago, when Dom said he was going to Paris for awhile and what? Arthur? He thinks Arthur might be going back home, why? So anyway, Arthur knows he hasn't been here this whole time, but that's the kind of thing he shouldn't know about, so he'll play dumb, and pretend that Eames believes him. 

"Uh, no. Dom said you might be coming here and-" he stops to cough "-I thought I'd try to talk to you." He discreetly leans against a wall and brings a hand up to his stomach, like that's the kind of thing that Arthur wouldn't notice. 

"What the fuck happened to you?" 

"Nothing serious, I'm alright." 

"Take off your shirt." 

"Arthur-" 

" _Now_ , Eames." 

He sighs, but he does. He has a big bandage just above his waist line, on the right side, but it looks properly taken care of. He must have seen a doctor, it's not the kind of thing he would know how to do on himself. But still. 

"What happened?" 

"It's a stab wound, a few days old. I got it looked after, it's fine." 

"A _few days_ old? Did you board a ten hour flight with that?" 

"Why would you think it was a ten hour flight?" 

Eames must be fucking kidding him. Seriously. 

"Because that's what it takes from Heathrow to the Los Angeles International Airport, and I _know_ you were in London because I keep track of your life when you're not around. Is that what you want to hear? Are you going to call me your lapdog too?" 

Eames reels back as if slapped. 

"Arthur, I'm so sorry-" 

"You fucking should be. Because I'm not doing anything besides trying to protect the people I care about and that I still _got_ , and I don't care if you don't like the way I'm doing it, you don't get to treat me like shit for that." 

"You're absolutely right." 

"Good." He says, and feels the fight draining out of him. "Do you want me to remake that?" He asks, pointing to the bandage. "We can clean the wound and make sure it won't get infected." 

"...yeah, okay." 

  
  


And so, hours later, he's lying next to Eames (on Eames' left side, so he won't accidentally roll over and hurt the wound), and he's trying to sleep. Trying being the key word here. He hears Eames' breathing, light and uneven, and knows he's not getting anywhere, either. 

Eames turns to him and breaks the silence first. 

"For what it's worth, I was going about it in the absolute _worst way_ possible, but I was trying to protect the people I care about too. I was worried about you because I know how easy it is to lose it. I've seen it before, Mal wasn't the first time. I thought working with Dom right now may do that to you, and I just hoped I never had to see it again." 

He's clearly talking about someone in particular, but: "If you don't want to talk about it, I won't ask." 

Eames thinks about this. "It was a woman I met, a long time ago." 

Arthur is really happy Eames apparently trusts him enough to share something about this with him. The twinge of jealousy is nothing compared to that. 

Eames sees it anyway. 

"She was fifty-five and married." He smiles. "But she just, she saved my life Arthur. You don't know what that feels like, when you think you're absolutely alone and someone cares." 

"What was her name?" Arthur asks, softly. 

"Violet Wright. Major Wright. She was a brave soul, really. She liked to believe in something good, and doing what's right. She joined the army when she was quite young, and found her aspiration there. Order, discipline, protecting your country and those you love, she believed in that. Maybe she was crazy, or naïve, but I still admired it." 

"She sounds amazing." 

"She was. And I was a mess. I was in uni, and I had had good grades and all, but I got involved with a bad crowd, found out I could make a lot of money, and fast, and the temptation was too much to resist. 

"The friends I had? Not the best. They sold me out to, well. To an unhappy client. I was pretty beaten up when Violet found me. She knew whatever I was doing wasn't good, and definitely wasn't legal, but she didn't care, just took me to a hospital, and when they said they'd be keeping me for a few days she visited, and kept visiting, months later, long after I was home. At some point she told me about her job, and this new technology they were testing. You need to understand, she didn't give a fuck about dream sharing. She wanted to keep people safe, and she didn't care about dreams beyond how far they could be used. But everything was new, and she was assigned to lead units, and she knew how to take orders." 

He looks down and smiles softly. 

"She didn't care about the dreams but she thought I might. I was creative, she'd say, it's the kind of thing I'd have fun with. She could get me into the army, if I wanted, I just needed to try." 

"She wasn't wrong." 

"No, she wasn't. I joined the army. One year and eight months, I learned so much while I was there, I was genuinely enjoining my time. I knew it was taking a toll on her, she wasn't keeping her reality in check like everyone else, and she was usually paranoid that someone was out to get her, but I was so busy all the time that I just didn't pay attention, you know? I though it was something she'd get used to, I didn't care, not nearly enough. And then-" His voice breaks. "Then-…" 

"A lot of brave people couldn't take the dreams. It's a battle. Sometimes people lose." He tries to recomforting. Eames gives a sarcastic laugh. It's the worst sound Arthur has ever heard. 

"She didn't kill herself, Arthur, she killed eleven people." 

Arthur feels the words like a slap, the shock paralyzing him. 

"Most of my unit, two captains and a general. It was the middle of the night. Violet had a gun with a silencer, most of them didn't even wake up. She had been highly trained, she knew what she was doing. She thought they had her under and were pretending to be people she trusted so she wouldn't suspect it. She was trying to get to the leader and find out the point of the operation. She understood what she had done _just before_ she was taken down. And I say 'she understood' and not 'someone told me she might have understood' because I was there. I saw in her eyes the moment the truth registered. She was horrified for about three seconds, and then she was gone." 

Arthur pulls him close, needing this as much as Eames does. Eames wraps his arms around him and just breathes for a second, before pulling them both into a more comfortable position. 

"I got her some violets and waited to know where she'd be buried. I was stupid, but to me it was so obvious that this was the army's fault, an experiment gone wrong, that I was just sure she'd get a proper burial somewhere. I didn't- I didn't want them to take responsibility, or issue a statement to the victims' families saying this, I just thought she'd get a proper burial, and I'd leave her flowers, or talk to her grave, and get some kind of closure, in the end. I thought, maybe they won't let me go, I won't get the day off, but I knew all the ways out of the facility by then, they couldn't stop me. I was just going to give her flowers, and wish her peace. 

"I never found out were she was buried. Or even what they did to her body at all. I put one of the violets in my pocket and I just left, I didn't care where, I just need to get out of there. The next time I checked my jeans the flower was long dead, and I just threw it away, but if I don't concentrate on the 'totem of the week' I can always pull a violet out of my pocket, and then I know I'm in a dream." 

Arthur has no idea what to say. "Eames, I'm so sorry." 

"I am, too." He takes a few moments. "But it's been awhile. Some things we can't change. Thank you for listening." 

He falls asleep soon after that, but Arthur stares at the ceiling for a long time. 

  


**VII.**

  


Arthur's been home from the Fisher job for about two weeks when he gets the call.

"Arthur! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"…........you're the one calling me."

"Oh, silly me. How has life been treating you?"

"It's barely been two weeks, Eames." He says evenly, but he can feel himself smiling. 

"I'm gonna assume good then, though I'm sure being filthy rich helps. Where have you gone to, to spend all that money?"

He thinks he's been asked where he is? It's hard to tell, sometimes, with Eames. "I'm home, in LA."

"Well, since I got you on the phone anyway, there's this amazing play in town on my side of the Atlantic, you might be interested in checking it out."

"What play?"

"Uh, I don't know. The Phantom of the Opera?"

"The Phantom of the Opera is always being played somewhere in London Broadway."

"Well then, you can't deny it is in town."

Arthur stops for a second, catching up.

"Are you... are you inviting me?"

"You don't have to jump into another job right now. Take a few days off, see a musical. We can even go sightseeing, I doubt you truly know the mysteries and charms of London."

"I'm not gonna go sightseeing, I've been to London dozens of times- you're distracting me." Eames sighs. "Why do you want to see a musical?"

"I have free time. And a lot of money. Live a little, Arthur." There's a joking edge to his voice that takes some of the bite out of his words.

"Is this- wait, is this an inter-continental _booty call_?" Eames actually laughs at that.

"Think of all the fun we could _have_ , darling." But it sounds like he's teasing, more than trying to seduce him.

"Did you miss the part where I'm in another continent? Thousands of miles away?"

"Kilometers, says the rest of the world." Arthur huffs. "You're a simple plane ride away."

"Why all the trouble, though. Just pick up someone at a bar, it can't be hard for you."

Eames is silent so long Arthur actually checks to see if he was disconnected.

"Arthur-- just think about it, will you? Great, thank you." And Arthur is about to joke but Eames ends the call before he can reply.

  
  


"I like Wicked better." He says, when Eames picks up the next day. He takes a moment, and Arthur gets a secret thrill from knowing he can still manage to surprise him.

"Wicked is a children's story, though." He says, at last.

"But it isn't quite so tragic. That's what this was about, right? Living a little, enjoying free time and money?" He hears a huff at the other end of the line, but then Eames is talking to him again.

"Right. We can do both, if you could possibly spare the time?" And Arthur smiles.

"I need to tidy up some things first, but I can be there by Friday."

"Text me your flight, I'll pick you up at the airport."

And that's that.

  
  


He doesn't remember the last time he got out of a plane to find someone waiting for him in arrivals. Probably the last time he payed a visit to his sister, and that was a depressing long while ago. He makes a mental note to go there before the end of the year, and looks up again, where Eames is standing with two Starbucks' cups to go.

"If one of those is mine I may marry you."

"Nope. Just felt like drinking coffee from different recipients today. Keep the mystery, never know what's coming." Arthur flips him off, but Eames is already passing him one, so he might forgive him anyway. 

Eames sees something fall to the floor and reaches for it. A button. Arthur looks down and notices that it was from his shirt. 

"Eames, no." 

"Do you have a sewing kit? Are you actually planning to stitch it back?" 

Well, no. But still. 

"I could get someone to fix it. I'm not throwing a shirt away because you want a totem." 

"Arthur. Let me have this." 

And fuck, Arthur just can't say no. 

Eames slips the button into a pocket and reaches for Arthur's bag, and any other day Arthur may have put up at least a token protest, but today he's too sleep deprived and jet legged to pretend to mind. Eames gives him a brilliant smile, and carries it all the way to his car.

The ride to his house is short, not even twenty minutes, and it's so easy, everything seems so easy, that Arthur feels a pang of heartbreak for himself on his trip back. Oh, well. It may be the sleep deprivation talking. But the coffee really was delicious.

  


**VIII.**

  


He spends months in London. When he asks about the play Eames pretends to be outraged. "I don't have tickets for _this week_ , Arthur! This was so last minute, we would have a terrible view if I just bought the first thing that I could find. No, I got Phantom for next _month_ , and I'm not even sure _when_ I'll find good seats for Wicked, to be honest." It all sounds like a terrible excuse to keep Arthur in London, to be honest, but he also doesn't really mind at all. 

He learns all sorts of things about Eames that he had missed before, like his tendency to watch terrible reality shows (and get emotionally invested in the stories and scream at the television), or the fact that he's a really good painter. 

He says it casually, on Arthur's second week there: "I've been thinking about going back into painting. It's been awhile, I'm out of practice, but in a few months I might get the hang of it. Muscle memory and all." 

And Arthur thinks he's talking about a hobby, something he had fun with. He says: "You can't paint me like one of your French girls." And Eames grins. 

"Then what even is the point of anything? Will life ever stop disappointing me?" 

Arthur throws a pillow at him.

But Arthur was so wrong, this wasn't a hobby, Eames is fucking brilliant. And not just because of the breathtaking landscapes that start to fill up the room, but the _way_ he does them. He clearly has a lot of technique, like he's learned this professionally before, and knows exactly what he's doing. He turns half of his living room into his art corner, and Arthur loves hanging out there, where he can get busy with his own stuff, but still watch him work, from time to time. 

"You're really good at this." 

"Thank you." 

"No, just, you're _really good_ at this." 

Eames cocks his head. "I haven't told you about this before?" 

Arthur shakes his head. 

"When I told you about uni, getting involved with a bad crowd and making a lot of money, you thought I meant dream sharing." 

"Well, yes. What else would it be?" 

Eames smiles. "Ask me what I was studying." 

"What were you studying?" 

"Fine Art." He laughs at Arthur's surprise. "I was a painter, and a good one. Eventually someone introduced me to art forgery, and the rest is history." 

"Seriously?" 

"Yep." 

Arthur can see it. He must have been _rich_. 

"Well, yeah. I didn't do it for the money though. It was more about the challenge. The power, you know? When a reputable art connoisseur analyzed one of my pieces and didn't see the difference, that was the best feeling. Like the world was mine, and I could get away with anything." 

Arthur is fascinated. "When did you find out about dreams, then?" 

"In the army, years later. I'm a natural." He winks. 

Arthur is just watching him. "You started a Fine Art degree." 

He laughs. "I told you about dropping out of uni, making money, and the army." Arthur nods. "Okay, there was some time between Violet taking me to the hospital and the day I joined Her Majesty's service." Arthur doesn't follow. "A year and a half." 

"Okay?" 

"Arthur, I finished a Fine Art degree. Violet made me go back. My diploma is in my bedroom somewhere." 

Arthur is completely surprised. Eames doesn't notice. 

"She'd talk about the amazing things she worked with as a reward I could get, if I fished my studies. She must have broken so many NDAs. Also, she totally cried on my graduation." He catches himself reminiscing and goes back to his painting. 

"Eames, that's _incredible_." 

"Thank you." 

"Can I see your diploma?" 

"I have some boxes underneath the bed, should be there. Want me to find it for you?" 

"I can look, if you don't mind." 

"Have fun." 

"Any other secrets I should know about before I run into them?" Arthur asks, from the bedroom. 

"Well, just my summer gig as an Irish Santa Claus stripper." 

"The only part of this that I doubt is the Santa Claus thing being in summer." 

"Santa Claus is a fetish that lives through time, Arthur!" 

"...the mental image is imprinted on my mind now. I don't think I'll ever be able to have normal sex with you again." 

Eames laughs. "A sacrifice I'm willing to make." 

Arthur searches through a folder with some documents, but nope, none of them is the right one. He moves on to the next box and just stops. 

Totems. 

Arthur knew Eames didn't lose them. There's all sorts of things he remembers from before, like the poker chip from the inception job, the cross, the heart shaped paper clip and oh _God_ , the pen, from the hotel, that first night they spent together. But there's also things he hasn't seen Eames using before, like a ticket for paintball, an earring he thinks he saw on Mal before, one of the cufflinks Arthur thought he'd lost. 

"...also, there's a box with some things I used as totems before. You might run into that." 

"Yeah." 

Eames shows up at the doorway. "Yeah, about that. I know my totem is the violet, so none of them work for long. Except pulling violets out of my pockets is really fucking sad, so I keep getting other things, for as long as they will last." 

"And you keep them all later because you're sentimental like that." 

"I keep the ones that remind me of people I care about." 

Arthur looks at the box again. 80% of them have something to do with him. 

Of course. Of course it's him. It has been him for a very long time. He feels so stupid, he should have seen this before. But he does now, and it's okay, it's fucking brilliant, he just needs to let Eames know that. 

Eames' phone rings. He leaves for a moment to pick it up in privacy and Arthur waits for him to finish, feeling ridiculously happy. 

And then he waits some more. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

When Arthur thinks to look for him again it's been half an hour. Eames is gone. 

  


**IX.**

  


"How is your sorbet?" 

Miriam beams. 

"It's delicious, want to try some?" 

"Sure." 

It really is delicious. 

"If you want anything else, just go ahead and order. My treat." 

"Arthur." He glances up. "You don't have to try so hard, you know. I'm easy to please." She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand for a moment. "I'm just glad you're here." 

"Yeah, me too." 

She smiles. "Hey, did I tell you about Jason? Oh God, Arthur, there's this guy in Human Resources and he's an asshole, really. You won't believe what he did the other day." 

"Tell me." 

  
  


They leave the restaurant awhile later. She puts on her coat and checks her phone. 

"Oh, god. I have a few missed calls from my boss, this must be important. Do you mind if I..?" 

"No, go ahead." 

"Thank you. I'll be right back." She walks a few meters away and makes her call. 

He's just considering a cigarette when he notices someone approaching him. 

Of course. Of fucking course. 

He hasn't seen him since Rome, and New York is a very big city, but that's _just_ Arthur's luck. 

"She's pretty." Eames doesn't look so happy, but he smiles, like showing up out of nowhere and making small talk is perfectly normal for him. "If that's the kind of thing you like, I mean." 

"Eames, what are you doing here?" 

"Militarizing the subconscious of a CEO. I might have mentioned it before. What are you doing here?" 

It's not what he meant. Arthur knew Eames was in NYC, knew about the job. He meant right here, right now, but he suspects Eames is being difficult on purpose. 

Well, he needs him to disappear anyway. Before Miriam comes back, because that's _not_ a meeting he's looking forward to. 

"I'm sorry Eames, I'm a bit busy right now. I can talk to you later, oka-" 

"Sorry, hope I didn't take too long." Well, shit. 

She realizes Arthur is not alone and glances curiously between the two of them. Eames is looking at Arthur, and Arthur is trying to convey to her something between 'abort mission' and 'please don't say anything embarrassing well actually don't say anything at all' with his _eyes_ , which obviously means she decides to do the opposite of that and have fun. 

She steps closer to him and hugs his waist. 

"Who's that, dear?" She asks, with a smirk. Arthur could kill her. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just living, actually. If you'll excuse me-" 

"That'd be such a shame, I didn't even get your name." She dismisses with a hand. "Why don't you introduce us, Arthur?" 

"Eames, this is Miriam. Miriam, this is Eames." 

"Oh, stop, you. He's annoyingly vague. Is he like this with you too?" Even her voice is an octave higher. Arthur could definitely kill her. 

"Uh, I don't think so." Eames looks like he could kill her too. Very popular right now, Miriam. 

"It's just with me then. My luck. Give us more details, dear." 

Okay, deep breath. 

"Eames, this is my sister Miriam. Miriam, this is... Eames." 

Eames face is hilarious. Miriam gives him a look that means she _will_ be making fun of him for this later, and turns back to Eames. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I really wish I could stay, but unfortunately duty calls me." 

"Oh yeah, everything okay with your boss?" 

"No, some intern made a stupid post for the company's twitter. One of the sentences sounds offensive, we're getting media backlash, all that crap. I'll need to work on a public statement tonight, I'm sorry." 

"No, it's okay. This is important." Like Arthur could ever blame her for working when he, sometimes, doesn't visit for months. 

"I'll see you later, okay? Eames, again, it was a pleasure, though a brief one." 

"Yeah. Good luck with your work." 

"Thank you." Just before leaving she turns back to Eames. "Oh, and I'm having a big birthday party on Saturday. 30 years. Even Arthur is in town for this one, you should come. Any....... of Arthur's is welcome there." There it is. 

Eames chokes back a laugh. Arthur glares. 

"You're not getting a birthday gift." 

"You travelled all the way here. I have the gift of your company." 

"I'll get you something and sign for the both of us." Eames offers, like the traitor that he is. 

She grins at Arthur. "I like him." She leans close, so Eames won't overhear them. "I can see why you're staying at a hotel, instead of my perfectly adequate guest bedroom." 

"Go away Miriam." 

"Okay, going." 

He helps her get a taxi and wishes her goodnight. 

And then he's alone with Eames. 

After Eames met his sister. 

He's fucked. Any minute now Eames will start mocking him, any minute, any- 

"Do you wanna go to a karaoke bar?" 

"Eames, please, just ignore h- wait, what?" 

"Karaoke. I've never been to one with you before, it'd be fun. I'm assuming you already had something to eat. We could just get drunk with strangers and sing embarrassing stuff." 

"But- what does that have to do with anything?" 

"It doesn't. C'mon. I'll sing Elvis. I'll sing _Britney Spears_ , you can laugh at that." 

Arthur doesn't understand how he's even real. He remembers calling him Hercules in his head when they first met and gets a warm feeling in his chest. _'At least out loud...'_  

"Yeah, sure." 

  


* 

  


Arthur doesn't get _drunk_ at any point that night, but Eames could see that one coming. He'd be uncomfortable letting go so much, Eames understands. But he drinks just enough to make silly jokes, and to sit close to Eames on their booth, and to actually be brave enough to go up there and sing John Mayer.

As for Eames, he does sing Britney Spears, and then he sings 'You are the one that I want' with a complete stranger, as the girl, and Arthur is crying laughing the whole time. 

So, Eames was right, and they do have a lot of fun. 

On the way back Eames snatches a flyer (he has no idea how he's going to make that one work, but he's sure he'll find a way), and then they split a taxi. Arthur didn't necessarily say that he wanted to do anything else, Eames figures he must be tired and doesn't push it. 

Still. If Arthur doesn't mind Eames has every intention in taking Miriam up in her offer. 

Eames distracts him. When Arthur looks away Eames lifts his phone. 

"Wha... is that my phone?" 

"Yep." 

"Seriously? It's password protected." 

"I'm sure I can figure it out." 

"What do you even want with it anyway?" 

"Miriam's number, I need to ask about the party." 

"...you really want to go?" 

"Of course." 

"Then... I can send you the address? But we can meet somewhere earlier and go together." 

That was easier than he thought. 

The taxi stops in Arthur's hotel first. A moment after Arthur leaves the car Eames realizes he's still holding the phone. Damn. He tells the taxi driver to wait and that he's "so sorry, just a second, I'll be right back" and catches up when Arthur is opening the glass door. "Hey." Arthur looks back. "You forgot your phone." 

"Oh. Thank you." 

He puts it in his pocket and gives him this beautiful smile, and shit, he must be thinking Eames did it on purpose. He'll be smug about it, Eames is sure. Well, he had it coming anyway. 

But then Arthur just reaches up and kisses him, really kisses him, at the entrance to his hotel, like the end of any good date. 

Eames thinks he _finally_ gets it. 

Arthur is shy, and he prefers to keep his distance because it's safe, it's what he's used to, but maybe he does care, after all. In his own way. 

He pulls away slowly and sees Arthur recompose himself, the façade he wears like a second skin feeling natural on him. And Eames knows, _knows_ that Arthur won't take the initiative, but he guesses he do this much for him, after all. 

"Darling." 

"Hmm?" 

"Now's a good time to invite me up for a cup of coffee." 

"Oh." And the look he gets in turn is just brilliant, but Eames may be biased. "You think so?" 

"Pretty sure." 

"Hmmm." He ponders over this for a few seconds. "I'm flattered? I guess?" 

Eames should probably fake glare or something, but he knows his face is just fond. He sees the moment Arthur craves. 

"Oh well. Would you like to come up for a cup of coffee, Eames?" 

"I just need to pay the cab driver." 

"Give him a good tip." Eames does. The driver doesn't say a word about the wait and wishes them a good night. 

Just before going inside he feels a cold wind and shivers. Arthur glares at him. 

"You should just listen and use a scarf. You'll get a cold like this." 

"Yes, sir." 

Yeah, he does care. In his own way. 

  


**X.**

  


"Ok, third time's the charm. Let's try again. _Where is him_?" 

"I don't know! I really don't fucking know." 

"See, I think you're lying. Because the last place he was seen was owned by you and your men, and if you weren't there, you know who paid you to use it. So I'll ask this one more time and you won't like it if I don't get an answer. Where. Is. Him?" 

He's bluffing, of course. He can't do anything to the guy. No one attacks the fucking Ukrainian mafia and comes out unharmed, and the distraction Ayla set up won't hold out for much longer. Unless he's planning to shoot his way out of this, he can't hurt a hair on the guy's head. Still. He points his Glock and pretends he's absolutely in control. 

"You're messing with fire, boy. And I don't fucking have what you're looking for." 

He hears someone pulling the safety on a gun behind him and curses. 

Time is up. 

Improvising it is. 

"You know what, why don't you fucking shoot. Go right ahead. I'm not afraid to pull my trigger, and, _believe me_ , I have nothing left to lose. So I kill your boss, you kill me, and someone else kills you for letting this happen. Really Reservoir Dogs." 

He lets it set in for a moment and smiles. "Or someone tells me what I fucking want to know and none of this happens. I go away, you never _hear_ from me again." 

Boss talks first. "Did someone pay you to use the warehouse?" 

"Boss, we thought you wouldn't-" 

"Son of a _bitch_." 

He thinks the guy behind him cowers. 

"Son of a bitch. Tell him what he wants and then we have a nice chat. And you kid, you have some balls. You ever break into the house again, we'll pull out every single one of your boyfriend's teeth and make you eat them before we actually start talking." 

Arthur breathes, relieved for the first time in hours, and gets to work. 

  
  


Ayla is leaning against his car outside. Everything worked out on her end too, then. Thank fuck for small mercies. 

She notices him approaching and stands up straight, battle ready. 

"So? Did you get a name?" 

"Daan Bellamy. Tycoon of the pharmacy industry. Dom is working on an address. Do you remember Eames ever doing a job that involved him?" 

"I'm sorry Arthur, I don't." 

"Fuck." They traced Eames' phone to the warehouse before they lost signal, but it's been hours since then. Eames could be _broken_ by now, he could be d- he could-.... 

This isn't helping. _Think_ , Arthur. Who else could have information about this? 

"Hello?" 

"Yusuf." Thank god he picked up. Arthur is shaking, he doesn't know what else he can do. 

"Arthur? Is that you?" 

"Yusuf, this is urgent. Eames is gone, someone kidnapped him. Do you remember him ever working on, with or for someone called Daan Bellamy?" 

"Fuck, Arthur. No, I don't." 

Arthur could shoot someone.

"But, wait. Daan Bellamy, you said? I know of him. Multimillionaire, bit of a playboy. I think he collects paintings. It could be about that? Something old that is just catching up now." 

"I didn't even think about this. Could be, I'll look into it. Thanks Yusuf." 

"Arthur. Whoever's after him has been trying for awhile. I patched him up a couple times when I was in London last year. Bruised ribs, split lip. Once he had an actual stab wound." 

Fuck. "Yeah, I remember that." 

"He said it was usually amateurs, whoever was paying clearly didn't know him enough. Maybe this time they did their research?" 

Arthur is barely breathing. 

"I'm not trying to scare you. You're gonna get him back, Arthur. I'm sure you will. I'm just saying, you may need to be careful." 

Arthur's phone buzzes with another call. 

"Yusuf, I have to go. Thank you." 

"Keep me updated." 

He connects it. 

"Arthur? I may have something. A place in London under an alias, payed for with money from an account he has used before." 

"Send me the address, Dom." 

  


* 

  


"I bet you feel really smart right now, fucker." 

The blow dislocates his jaw. Eames swallows blood and repeats his mantra. Still dreaming, still dreaming. He can still feel the violet in his pocket and knows he's still dreaming. The good side is that none of this will leave a scar, thank god. He'll still be his handsome self when ( _when_ ) he gets out of this. 

It also means Bellamy isn't really trying to kill him. Just mess him up, let out his sadism, get his revenge. This will get old eventually, and then he'll leave. 

Well, it may also mean he just wants a cleaner job. Hit him when it won't leave evidence, and then have one of his boys finish the job. 

Eames will believe in the former for now. 

No harm in trying, right? 

The next blow would break a rib if he was awake. But he isn't, and this can't last forever. Still dreaming. Still dreaming. Still dreaming. 

"You're such a boy wonder, you could make a fool out of anyone you wanted and we'd never find out, isn't it? You disgusting pig. But you'll regret ever wanting to fuck with _me_." 

Eames knows better than trying to reply. He just needs to hold himself together and wait him out. Still dreaming. 

His head is smacked against a wall behind him. He has a few moments of complete dizziness, trying to push back the nausea and stay still. When he gets his bearings again he's hearing classical music. 

He wonders for a second if he's gone insane?? But no, there's really Chopin playing, Nocturne Op.9 No.2? Yeah, that's it. 

"Oh hey, your cavalry must be outside. My guys can handle it for now. If Fantaisie Impromptu, Op.66 plays, it means they're close, and then I can figure out if they are more interesting than you." 

Fuck. 

Arthur. 

It must be. Eames just hopes he's safe, and that he knows what he's doing. 

He takes a kick to his stomach and is getting his breathing under control when the music stops. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. It could mean anything. Arthur could have run. Arthur could be _dead_ , and Eames can't do anything about it. 

But then- 

Oh thank god. 

"Fantaisie Impromptu. That's my cue.. You better hope they make it worth my while." 

And, suddenly, Eames is alone. 

  


* 

  


"I don't want any trouble." Arthur says, dropping his gun. He's very much surrounded right now, it's not much of a choice. But acting tough got him this far, and now he can just hope to all high heavens that the guy is up for negotiation. 

"Oh, I doubt that." 

"Just give me a second, I swear. I have a deal for you." 

"I'm bored. Shoot-" 

"René Magritte!" 

The guy stops. 

"That's what this is about, right? A painting by René Magritte Eames forged about ten years ago, nowadays valued in 6.2 million dollars." 

He looks Arthur up and down. "I'm listening." 

"I can get you that money. With interest. Think about it. He messed with you, and you wanted revenge. I get it. But you've had your fun, right? Right now he's not worth anything else to you. He's certainly not worth 6 million if he's dead. Instead you can get a good business transaction out of this, and we'll both leave you alone." 

His heart is hammering in his chest. Today was all about taking fucking chances and praying that, for some unexplainable reason, any of this actually works. 

"I want 7." 

Thank fuck. 

"6.5, in a bank account, right now." 

"Oh, you're hilarious. I said 7." 

"I don't have that money." Even with the Eames account he figured out the password for, that's still all he can come up with. 

"Well, good luck." 

"Prove he's alive first." 

Bellamy considers him. Then he nods to one of his guys, that moves to a door and opens it. 

Eames. 

He strapped to a chair and connected to a PASSIV, but he's mostly alright. 

There's still no way Ayla could get him out unnoticed. 

One of the guys walks him into the room, a gun in the back of his head, and lets him get close enough to take his pulse. 

He's alive. 

He's _alive_. 

He's alive, and mostly okay, and Arthur will get him _out of here_. 

"Okay. 7 then." 

"You've got half an hour." 

He can work with that. Fuck, he can make magic with that. Let's see, maybe Dom? 

"Hello?" 

"Dom, I'm glad you picked up. Burrow me five hundred thousand dollars." 

"...I'm not gonna ask." 

  
  


When Arthur finishes the transaction he comes back to an empty warehouse, as they agreed. He pulls out his gun, motions for Ayla to guard the entrance, and moves towards the back room, where Eames should be. 

He has to here. He has to. Arthur opens the door with his heart in his hands. He _has_ to. 

He is. 

The relief Arthur feels can't even be described. 

" _Eames_." 

He's still tied to a chair and looks awful, blood in his hair, dirt in his clothes. But Arthur runs to him and checks, and yes, he's breathing, his heart rate is steady, and Arthur puts down his gun and thinks he could cry. 

He's cutting the last of the ropes when Eames wakes up. 

"Wha..? Arthur?" 

And he's still out of it but Arthur is just so ridiculously happy that he doesn't even care. 

"Yeah Eames, it's me. Rescue is here." 

Eames smiles and reaches for his pocket, probably to check whatever totem he has this week, it doesn't really matter, they're going to get out of here and they're going home. 

" _No_." 

Arthur looks up. 

Eames just pulled a violet out of his pocket. 

 _"Generic is bad because it's a liability. There are millions of coins out there, and that's something someone could use, if they're trying to fuck up with your head."_  

 _"Anyone could put a normal coin in your pocket and try to make you believe you're still dreaming."_  

Eames stares at it, transfixed, for a moment or two. And then he holds Arthur's gun on him. 

"Eames. This is real. This is real." Arthur's heart races. He puts up his hands. "You kill me here, I won't wake up." 

"Right." He holds the gun with both hands and aims at Arthur's head. 

" _Eames_. They were trying to fuck with your mind, you have to believe me. Put that down and we can talk." 

Eames clicks the safety off. 

Arthur is shaking. Eames thinks he's dreaming. He thinks Arthur is a forgery and Arthur doesn't have anything he can use to stop him, and he doesn't have time, it's too late, too _late_. 

"Here!" He pulls out the dice, showing it to Eames. It's the only thing he can think of, and it won't be enough, it won't- 

Eames picks it up, other hand still holding the Glock. 

"How do you know about this?" 

"...you remember the dice, don't you? It's what you had for a totem, the first time we met, at that bar in Los Angeles. You gave it to me the next day. If it was someone forging me, they wouldn't know that." 

Eames looks long and hard at the dice and then lowers the gun, thank Go- and points it at _himself_. 

"EAMES, STOP. This is real, fuck, you won't get a second chance. Don't do this to me, please, just lower the gun." 

Eames stops for a second, considering him. 

"Click the safety on. Please, we can talk about this, just, _please_." 

He seems amused. He probably thinks his subconscious decided to act weird today. Arthur can work with that, just, anything that keeps him _alive_. 

"You think I'm your subconscious, right? Then you have nothing to lose. Just stay with me a while longer. Humor me. Just, please, click the safety back on." 

Eames does. He doesn't lower the gun, but he's a not a slip of the finger from blowing his brains out. That's good, that's better, Arthur likes that. 

"Okay, now ask me anything. Anything at all, from my side of things, the kind of stuff that you wouldn't know about, and I'll tell you. I swear. I just need you to stay with me." 

Eames just looks at him. 

"Let me try something first." Arthur says, completely out of his depth. 

What can he tell him, what can he tell... 

"Hey, I called you Hercules!" 

Eames is unconvinced. "You really didn't." 

"Not out loud, just, inside my head. The first time we met. I called Hercules inside my head when we first met." 

"...even during sex?" 

Arthur glares. "Just until you told me your name." 

"That's disappointing. I could see myself as a Greek demigod." 

"Asshole. God, I don't know what else to tell you." He thinks about this. "I practically begged Mal to give you that job in Rome because I missed you, and I didn't know how to pick up a phone and say that." Fuck, his heart is racing. He can't even look at Eames. "I hated Ayla all the way through the job in Mexico because I thought you were sleeping together and I couldn't stand it." 

"This is getting really close to a cruel joke." 

His head snaps up. "I'm not joking. I'm not Eames, I _swear_." 

"This isn't the kind of thing Arthur would say in a million years. It's getting boring really fast." 

"I wouldn't say it because I was being stupid, but you know it's true. You do. If you remember me at all you'll know it has been, fuck, it's been all over face, Eames. Always, so you know what I'm talking about. And you know I'd never joke about any of this." 

That finally makes Eames pause, and look as if he's starting to believe him, and thank _fuck_ , because something had to. 

"After- after Mal I was broken Eames, but you kept me together somehow and I'll never be able to thank you for that." He didn't knew how true it was until he said it out loud. "And you think still loving Violet Wright makes you weak but it _doesn't_ , because she was obviously an amazing woman and the way she lost it, in the end, doesn't erase everything she meant to you." 

Eames' eyes are wet. 

Arthur takes a deep breath and carries on. 

"And I've known you for years, but there are still so many things I missed Eames, so many things I didn't know, like your Bachelor in Fine Art, or how incredibly strong you can be, no matter how hurt you are, and I wanna find out." Well, fuck. He wants to find out because, _shit_ , "Because I love you, I really do, and I want to find out, if you'll let me, and I can't do that if you pull that fucking trigger, so _drop the gun_." 

Eames does. 

"Okay. Okay, good. Now we need to get out of here, can you stand up?" 

"Arthur-" 

"Later. Are you hurt anywhere?" 

"They gave me some drugs, my head is hurting like hell. The rest is fine." 

"Okay. We can get you some medicine on the way home, just hang on." 

He puts his gun in the back of his jeans and helps Eames stand up. Yeah, they can do this. 

Ayla gives him the 'all clear' sign when they get out of the room, and hugs Eames. 

"9 to 7. I'm winning." 

"You had help for this one, it's half a point." 

"I distracted the Ukrainian _mafia_ while Arthur got information. If anything I should get a whole extra point for this." 

"Fine. Ayla winning 9 to 7. I'll still catch up." 

"...do you two have some sort of score for saving each other's liv- no, I'm not gonna ask. Do you want me to drop you off at your hotel, Ayla?" 

"No, don't worry about it. Take care of him." 

"I will." 

She says goodbye and gets on a taxi in the avenue. 

They are almost at his car when Eames talks again. 

"For what It's worth it, I love you too." 

"Yeah, I know." 

Eames, dirty and beaten up, just coming back from a heroic rescue, still raises an eyebrow at him. Asshole. 

"You keep the totems that remind you of people you care about and 80% of them have something to do with me." 

"...that's what clued you in?" 

"Shut up." 

"Nothing about the near death experience, or the years of convivence. Just, regular day in life, while you're looking through my things." 

"You're one to talk, Mister It Doesn't Have To Be Anything Serious, or, We Can Just Have Fun." 

"I was _lying_ , Arthur." 

"And it took me awhile to get it, so what?" 

Eames smiles, easy and free. 

"If we're being honest today, I believed you around 'I'd never joke about any of this'. You seemed caught up in your momentum and I didn't want to interrupt." 

Arthur relieves the conversation in his head. 

"I hate you." 

"No, you looove me." 

"We're stopping for medicine _and ice cream_. I'm not getting drunk when I need to take care of someone possibly hallucinating, and ice cream is the next best thing." 

Eames just ignores this and kisses him, like they got all the time in the world. 

And, thinking about it, maybe they do. 

"Now's as good a time as any to tell you that we're really poor. Like, 'I basically cleaned our bank accounts and I still owe Dom $500.000' poor." 

"Seriously?" 

"You won't complain and you'll thank me for my amazing negotiation skills." 

"...thank you for your amazing negotiation skills?" 

"You're welcome." 

Eames pauses for a second. "...did you really call me Hercules in your head when we first met?" 

"I'm glad the important parts of that conversation are sticking around." 

"Arthur, this may be one of the most important things _anyone ever has ever told me_." 

"Idiot." Eames pouts. "Yeah, I did. You were hot, I thought 'Hercules' and then amused myself calling you that." 

"This changes everything. Is this a thing for you? You can tell me, you know. Do you want me to wear sexy clothes and talk about the twelve labors I did?" 

"Maybe you're concussed. I shouldn't let you sleep for the next few hours." 

Eames smirks. Arthur rolls his eyes. 

He is just starting the car when something else occurs to Eames. 

"Can I at least call you Meg?" 

"Shut up." 

  


**XI.**

  


"You're sure? Like, absolutely sure?" 

She sighs. "Arthur, it has her name in it. I asked some locals and they said an old man has visited every year on the anniversary, and he matches the description I got. The information isn't on official records but I know they contacted him directly, for protection. It has to be this one. I'll text you the address." 

"Okay. And thank you." 

"No problem." 

And that's how Arthur finds out where Major Wright's grave is. He just needs a way to tell Eames. 

Eames is the living room, watching some show about... cakes? 

And he's shouting at the television. Like usual. 

"Are you kidding me? His was clearly the best, this is bullshit." 

"What did the cakes do to you this time, Eames?" 

"The _cakes_ are innocent, Arthur, my problem is with the chefs judging them. Come shout at the telly with me." 

Arthur hovers uncertainly by the couch. Eames notices. 

"Hey." He turns off the TV. "What's wrong?" 

"Eames." He has no idea how to start. 

"Come here." Arthur sits next to him and looks up. Okay, deep breath. 

"Major Wright's burial location wasn't revealed publicly as a protective measure. They feared her funeral could have been disturbed by families of the victims. But her closest family got to say their goodbyes, her husband, or her widower, has visited the grave every year on the anniversary." 

"And you know where it is." 

It wasn't a question, but Arthur nods. "It's just outside of London, not really an hour away. You said you wanted closure, I thought this could help. If I stepped out of line, you can let me know." 

Eames is silent for a long time. "A little. I guess I could have really dug if I wanted to, before, I mean, but I was afraid-…" 

He takes a deep breath. 

"Tomorrow, then." He pauses. "Would you came with me?" 

The fact that he isn't sure just breaks Arthur's heart. 

"Of course I will." 

  
  


Eames buys her violets, and actually gets to give them this time. Major Violet Wright. After he leaves the flowers next to the grave he clearly needs a moment of privacy, and Arthur is okay with that. 

Arthur walks away and feels the sun on his skin, feels the cool autumn breeze. He joins Eames again when he seems to be done. 

They're silent for a moment. 

"She would have liked to meet you." 

"I would have liked to meet her." 

Eames reaches down and picks one of the violets from the bouquet. 

"Arthur, just. Thank you." 

"It's okay." 

Eames smiles. "Want to stop for coffee on the way back? I could use a coffee." 

"That's not very British of you." 

"There's only so many stereotypes a person can carry at once, you know?" He holds Arthur's hand all the way to the car. Arthur thinks about finding peace and smiles. 

  
  


When they get home Eames uses a book to press the flower that he took, so it'll stay beautiful, and puts it in his box of past totems. Arthur understands the message. No more violets. He just needs to find a good replacement, and one that will stay. 

  


**XII.**

**(Epilogue)**  

  


Arthur gets home a bit earlier than he was expecting, and decides to start on dinner. Eames is on the phone and from what Arthur can hear he's talking to Ariadne, that could take hours. Never mind the fact that they are all meeting tomorrow for brunch, those two are like gossiping maidens. 

There are very few fail proof ways to lure him in when he's distracted like that. Arthur feels himself smiling. 

Contrary to popular belief, Arthur is actually a good cook. Not really revolutionary, but he can make some of his favorite dishes like no one. That's a secret only a few are aware of. 

He considers their fridge for a moment before deciding yeah, maybe shrimp, he could do pasta too, and start on a salad. He pours himself a glass of wine and gets to work. 

He's starting the sauce when he hears Eames approaching the kitchen. Bingo. 

"And what did she say? ...you're joking. Please, you're getting your master's degree. Did she think you bought your way into university too? …oh, no, she _didn't_. Your exhibition was great, don't listen to her. ...of course you are, vent whenever you want to. Hey, sorry Ari, but something smells really good in my kitchen. ...you tell him that, I'm not your mail courier." But he turns to Arthur and passes the message. "Ariadne wants you to know that she still resents you for the time she came over and you ordered food instead of making something. She's asking when you will accept her as your true love and cook for her again." 

"I'm free Monday to Wednesday next week, if she's still missing a true love then." 

"Arthur is telling you never, and that you should just give up and take your filthy paws off of him." He looks at Arthur again. "She's saying that she would never use such a vulgar vocabulary and is obviously a better choice." 

"She wins if she lets us eat." 

"He's hungry and isn't thinking straight." He laughs. "Ok, see you tomorrow." He hangs up. "You're home early." 

"Yeah, and I thought I'd make dinner. Could you get us some plates? I'm almost done." 

"Sure." 

He drains the noodles and gets everything ready. When he finally turns off the stove, the table is set, and Eames is leaning against the counter and watching him. 

"Hey." 

"Hi." Eames pulls him into a loose hug. Arthur's hand presses against Eames' chest and he feels the ring there, underneath his shirt, on a chain around his neck. A ring that is just like one that Arthur has, actually, though Eames' is special. Arthur has no idea what it does in a dream (change colors? Spin like a spinning top?), but it's all Eames needs to ground him to reality. And, this time, it will stick around. 

"You never told me what the ring does in a dream." 

"Oh, really? What a shame." 

"Eames." 

Eames laughs. 

"It gets Lord of the Rings engravings." 

"You're joking." 

"Nope. One ring to rule them all." 

Arthur shakes his head. "You're such a nerd." 

"And you love me anyway." 

And, at some point, Arthur caught up to that too. 

"I do." 

  


**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> So, who wants a bunch of headcannons?
> 
> Arthur sings In Your Atmosphere. He also has Eames dice in a drawer somewhere in his house, and he makes one for himself that he uses. He'd want to make one from zero because he'd feel more in control of reality if his totem was something no one has ever touched before. But he'd make it just like the first, falling on the same number and everything, because he's sentimental like that. Eames would find the original someday, probably the month after Mal when he was in Arthur's house, and he'd melt into a thousand pieces. Arthur didn't just use his dice because it was the first he got and he didn't bother to change, he deliberately made one, from zero, so it'd remind him of Eames. They are idiots, and love is beautiful. 
> 
> I don't think what I was trying to do is always clear, because I chose to leave most of this in Arthur's point of view, but Eames is a fucking nerd. He's so much of a nerd I can't even start. He had zero way to pick up Arthur when he finds out that he's in Rome so he just runs and buys the first bike he can find for an exorbitant amount of money just because he needs to look cool. 100% of the times he was suave and mysterious and just coincidentally there he planned it in advance, if his hair looks nice blowing in the wind he probably has a fan hidden somewhere. They love each other, but this particular story was about taking a bunch of chances and seeing what works. (I was so afraid this wasn't getting through that I actually went back and wrote in a sentence about Eames being a nerd and Arthur biased before publishing auihdhlasjhlsjhd) 
> 
> If anyone was curious, I have a list of the 12+1 totems in here. In italics are the ones Eames never actually used.
> 
> Prologue- Poker Chip   
> I-Dice (mentions _coin_ , _keychain_ , lighter, pen)   
> II- Cross   
> III- Paper Clip   
> IV- Mal's earring (not included) (mentions _house key_ )   
> V- Pen   
> VI- Cufflink (not included) (mentions violet)   
> VII- Button   
> VIII- Button (mentions ticket, earring, cufflink)   
> IX- Flyer   
> X- (not included, Arthur saves the day)   
> XI- Violet   
> XII- Ring
> 
> Or 1 Violet, 2 Lighter, 3 Dice, 4 Pen, 5 Ticket, 6 Cross, 7 Flyer, 8 Paper Clip, 9 Earring, 10 Cufflink, 11 Poker Chip, 12 Button, + 1 Ring
> 
> Ahh that's it. Talk to me on tumblr! @alwaysalovestory.


End file.
